Downton Abbey: Rose Comes To Downton
by MaPetitBaboo
Summary: Rose, the cocky fun loving cousin, is coming to Downton Abbey, and its going to be "Quite the experience", as granny puts it. Edith find out that her true love is still alive, Alfred faces up to the facts, and Beth, Rose's maid, causes trouble in the servants quarters without even meaning to! Matthew may never walk again, and Anna takes a "trip" she wont soon forget.
1. Chapter 1

This story is the sequel to the previous story I wrote, "Downton Abbey: A Tragedy at Downton", and will probably make worlds more sense if you have read that first (AKA: Major spoilers ahead!). But, if you wish to take the rebel route, here is an overview:

Matthew is found in a comma under his car after mary gives birth. He has been in an accident. They take him back to Downton and put him in bed and higher a nurse-Sharon. Anna is pregnant by Bates, and Alfred has gone to make a culinary genius out of himself in Paris. Edith has just found out that the editor of The Ripon Post has been killed (they were romantically involved). Matthew finally wakes up at the end and...yeah. Your good now:)

A man walked swiftly up the steps intimidating granite front steps of Downton Abbey and knocked smartly on the door. His kid glove stretching as he made the fist. He bounced on his heels-Brown Broxford dress shoes- and waited. He needed to see Miss. Edith. A portly, rather bald, man swung the huge, oaken door aside with non obvious difficulty. He was the capable butler at Downton Abbey. Carson looked down at the puny man in front of him. The man was used to this. He was very short, and very thin. Other men usually underestimated him because of this.

"I am Carson, head butler here at Downton abbey. May I ask who you are?" Carson asked in that oh so condescending way of his.

"My name is George Breech and I am here to call upon Miss. Edith Grantham." George frowned up at the man. It was very hard to frown up at someone. It made you feel like an ant.

"Well, come this way Mr. Breech. Please wait here." Carson lead him inside and to the sitting room, where he took an uncomfortable seat on an under stuffed chair.

When Edith heard that there was a Mr. Breech waiting in the drawing room for her, she burst into tears and told Mr. Carson to stop teasing her. That she would have him fired and hung for playing such a nasty trick.

Edith had read just two night before that George Breech was dead. Killed in a tree accident. She had then broken and urn and then passed out because of it. Well, it didn't say George Breech in the newspaper exactly, but it said the editor of The Ripon Post, and that was George.

"I am not trying to pull the wool over your eyes, Miss." Carson had grumbled uncomfortably.

So Edith has dried her eyes, hardened her resolve, and went with Sybil down to meet her "deceased" friend.

She gasped and covered her mouth with a gloved hand. He smiled sheepishly.

Edith ran to him, and hugged him. Sybil looked away.

As she pulled away, she whispered, "I thought you were dead!"

"I know. I have a confession to make." He looked down at his hands.

"I told you that i was the head editor of The Ripon Post. I'm not. Or at least, i wasn't. I was assistant editor, but i wanted-no, i needed- to impress you. But its falsehood now. I have been promoted." He told her, first ashamed, then rueful.

First she slapped him, right across the face, and then she kissed him. Not on the lips, but on the cheek. At this very moment, The dowager happened to be descending the stairs.

"I'm just glad you're alright." She murmured, as Sybil tried in vain to signal her sister. But they were in there own special world.

Granny cleared her throat and the happy couple sprang apart. George looked down, embarrassed.

"Next time you decide to turn this sitting room into a bedroom, do tell me first. I do hate to be surprised." She wheezed and she descended the rest of the stairs. Sybil smiled inwardly.

"Of course, my dear, i was not aware that you were involved with anyone right now."

It was Edith's turn to look embarrassed.

"My name is George Brrech. I am the head editor for The Ripon Post." He said proudly.

Edith nodded. Granny staired. Sybil grimaced.

"Were you planning on keeping it a secret forever?" Granny demanded.

"No. And with your permission, i will ask him to stay for dinner, so i might introduce him properly." Edith said, nose in the air.

"Alright my dear. But i do suggest you wear a simple dress."

"Whys that?"

"So nothing will be ruined when your father starts throwing things."

Rose looked out the window of the cab at Downton Abbey. It was large. But a few rooms more cramped than her parents estate. Of course, that was no matter, she thought, looking down now at her jeweled high heels. But I am sure it will be terribly dull. Nothing to do. Well, there was never anything to do back home. But still. At least I'll be away from mummy.

The cheveux opened the door with a pop and Rose stepped out onto the gravel driveway, spindly heels crushing the rocks. She had a full compliment, with all the servants lined up in front of the mannor. Lord Grantham was standing by, blazered arm held out for her to take. Rose sighed. Already things were disappointing. She had hoped so that Matthew would have been there to escort her. Of course, he's married now, She sulked, and with a baby now, too! She clicked up the steps and into the grand front hall, her lady's maid, Bethonie, trailing behind.

Fabulous luxury met her at green sparkling every turn. The lush persian and Iranian rugs in muted hues, the chandeliers just dripping with glinting, gleaming crystals, the gild shining framed famous paintings of sour faced generals, the rich silken wallpaper with little raised engravings, and the gas powered lights, shielded with hand blown glass shades, throwing soft gentle light on everything.

Of course, the girl appreciated none of it. She was constantly comparing everything with the goods that she owned at home. Never stopping to observe the simple beauty of the priceless artifacts that lined the walls and shelves. She knew no other life, so she criticized it. Lord Grantham led her to her room, and Beth closed the door softly behind them.

"What a wonderful view!" Rose cried, throwing open the windows and leaning out into the fresh, cooling air. It was just turning September and the heat of August had almost begun to be penetrated by threads of chil.

Beth unpacked Roses Toilet onto a golden dressing table and then backed out of the room, reminding her lady she would be back in an hour to help her dress for supper. As soon as the other woman was out of the room, Rose lit up a cigarette and flopped down onto the poofy, voluminous bed, not really caring where her ashes landed.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi everyone! New chapter! Thank you for all the reviews, it was truly a joy to see you enjoying my story so much! Hope you like my new installment:)

"I think you'll fit in just fine, Miss. Beth, if you only follow the rules." Mrs. O'brien said next to her, making little stitches in a velvety green dress of her ladyships.

"And pray, what are those?" Beth, Rose's ladies maid, asked, a little confused. Anna, sitting to her other side, touched her hand.

"I honestly don't know what Mrs. O'brien is talking about."

"Oh, there are plenty of rules here." Tomas retorted, taking a drag on his cigarette. Beth had mild asthma, and hated smoke of any kind. She coughed a little, and Thomas took this as a signal to go on.

"Take ol' Carson. Never rough him up, he looks thick-and he is-but not so much as you think."

"And Mrs. Hughes. Be wary of her, Miss. Beth." O'brien finished.

"Stop scaring the girl." Anna was indigent, "Beth, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are very nice people, they just like to get the job done. Some people just have issues with honest work." She looked swiftly at O'brien and Thomas.

Just then, Sharon, Mr. Crawley's nurse, walked in.

"If it isn't Miss. Belle." O'brien muttered, practicing her French.

"Anna!" She cried when she saw her, "Would you come help me make a bed? The maids are all tied up, and i just have to find someone." Anna looked down at the ribbons she was cutting, Mrs. Mary needed them tonight, and she was only half done.

"I can do it." Beth offered, getting up. She truly wanted to get out of the smoke and ill will. Anna smiled gratefully at the girl as she went out of the servants all with Sharon.

"Rose, were so glad you could make it." Lady Grantham reached for her nieces hands in a warm welcome over the dining table. A footman ladled some tomato soup into her bowl, carefully adding a salted cracker with the click of polished silver tongs.

"I'm glad to be here." Rose said, not untruthful, but not so truthful either."

"Yes. I hope we can restore some order now." Lord Grantham grimaced at his bloody soup. Rose looked confusedly at her stately uncle, "What do you mean?"

"He just means that summer was a stressful time." Sybil clarified.

"A little more than stressful, I would say." Mary countered indignantly from across the table, her hand wound up in her husbands. Matthew, her husband and air to Downton Abbey, had just woken up from a coma that had lasted the better part of the month.

He of course was in his room at that moment, sipping weak soup and drinking lots of fluids.

All through this conversation, Mr. Breech had been looking down at his plate, trying to act as if he were not there. In the long pause that followed Mary's cutting comment, Edith took the opportunity to bring George Breech into the spotlight.

"Everyone," She said proudly, "I would like you to meet my good friend, George Breech. He is the head editor for The Ripon Post."

Everyone around the table looked hard and suspiciously at the poor man. Even the Mr. Carson, who happened to be entering the room with a new bottle of dak red French wine. If only Mr. Breech could have known that this look was only for Ediths sake, who had already suffered more heartbreak than was comprehensible. He smiled nervously back at everyone.

"So...The Ripon Post?" Sybil said after a long second.

"Yes."

"We get that paper don't we?" She asked looked at her grave father.

"No, actually, i do not believe we do." Granny said with a touch of ice as the lord of the house was struggling for the right words. She still couldn't get the images of the drawing room out of her brain.

"But we look forward to subscribing." Sybil clinched at last.

Mr. Breech only nodded, sweat beading at his temples.

As the ladies and Matthew (he, still recovering, needed to maintain an early bedtime) were leaving the grand dining room, Sybil whispered to Rose the situation Matthew had been in. How he had swerved off the road and been trapped under his auto, how they had taken him home, only to find he had slipped into a coma, how Mary had turned to drink and finally, when all had seemed lost, how he had stumbled back to life one sunny afternoon. Rose nodded.

"Oh, I get it."

"So we needed to be extra careful with Mary." Sybil blanketed.

"Oh no, Mary and I are just the best of friends." She smiled and hummed to herself as she rounded the corner. This wasn't exactly true.

Matthew stared at a picture on the wall. It was of some fat woman he had never met. He pushed his dirty blond hair out of his eyes and tried to focus. He looked until he saw dark brown spots, then he tried to rise out of his wicker wire chair. Pulling himself up with his arms, then thrusting forward to gain momentum.

He stumbled a few steps, then face planted into the purple floral rug. He swore, quite frustrated and vexed, and pulled himself by his shaking arms to the cushy bed, where he lay, panting like a dog and in quite a ruffled state. Finally, he hoisted himself into a passable sitting position, and promptly slid off silky bed cover and crashed onto the floor. And there he lay, listless and defeated, until Mr. Mosley came to dress him for supper. It was the first supper he would be eating outside of his room.

"Oh my, Mr. Crawley! Oh my indeed! Lets get you up now, up you go, come on." Mr. Mosley hoisted Matthew up, back into the wheelchair he used to get around the spacious manor. Matthew was too irked and defeated to even breath a word of thanks.

"Now, do you want the gold links or the little diamonds, today?" Mr. Mosley quivered, trying in vain to break the awkward silence that had descended upon them.

"Doesn't matter." Matthew shooed the question away.

After a while of pulling, prodding, yanking and pushing, Mr. Crawley was finally ready for the supper meal.

"There you go, do you want me to push you down...?"

"No, no."

"Should i call for Miss. Sharon?" Mosley referred to Mr. Crawley's personal nurse.

"No. No thank you."

"Alright." Mosley opened the door, and Mr. Crawley inched out of the room.

I hope to post the next chpter sometime next week. See you then!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry it took so long! But here is the next chapters for my story. I hope you like it. Its a lot of character set up, but i promise, well get some action next time:) Enjoy!

"The meal was an immense success." Carson smiled proudly as he relayed the news to Mrs. Hughes.

"I am ever so glad to hear that, Mr. Carson." Nothing did please the sage butler more than knowing he had done his duty, not just well, but outstandingly. They were sitting in Mrs. Hughes cozy little pastel sitting room, sharing their weekly tea and information meetings. If they were going to run the household, they realized very early on, that they were going to have to collaborate.

"Oh yes, just following up. I have had three applications for the new footman position." He picked up a sugar bun and ripped it in two with one jerk of his beefy fist.

"Things just aren't the same after the war." Mrs. Hughes mused, sipping her steaming earl grey tea out of its chipped lavender cup, "I remember you used to get almost twenty applications every time you advertised!

"Quite right as always. Say, what about that house maid position?" He popped one of the moist, sweet halves into his mouth.

"Oh, its just the opposite! Every woman wants a job now. I'm absolutely swamped!" She added just a splash more cream to her cup and stirred, shaking her head.

"I am sorry to hear that Mrs. Hughes." Carson murmured, finishing off his bun with a few careful chews. She nodded,

"I think I have it narrowed down though. To four possible choices." She drained her cup.

"You know i trust your judgement." He rumbled, refilling it like a good gentleman would.

Anna awoke to the intense feeling of nausea. She shoved of the covers, and with an urgency that could only mean one thing, she ran in her woolen stockings to the tile and grout bathroom where she retched repeatedly into the porcelain toilet. John Bates, her husband, had been awoken by the commotion and drowsily checked the clock on the far wall. 4: 44. he slid out of the cozy warmth of the bed to go find his wife, rubbing his eyes.

When he found her, he wrapped her in the thickest blanket he could find (for even though it was just early september, the mornings were bitingly cold), and built up the fire, even though they would soon be leaving.

"Are you sure you should go to work today?" He asked, all concern. Putting the dented kettle on the burner and blowing on the little flames down below.

"Oh yes. Its only morning sickness, you know." She chuckled dryly, her good spirits already beginning to return.

Mr. Bates wasn't convinced.

"I can tell his lordship when i get to work. You need not stress yourself too much, dear." The kettle began to whistle shrilly.

"No, its to early in the pregnancy to be taking leave...God knows I'll need it later." She got shakily up to go get a cup, but her husband pushed her back down and got one himself.

"I'm sure they will understand." He put some dried ginger chips in it and poured the scalding water over them.

"John Bates, just because i am pregnant does not mean i have to be a special case."

"I just want you to be careful." He clinked the cup and a saucer down in front of little Anna. Just breathing in the stem made her feel more settled.

"I love you John Bates," She murmured, overcome with sentiment, "And its going to be a fine, healthy baby. Just you wait and see."

"I'm just not sure you will be qualified for the job." Mr. Carson grumbled, giving the megar resume one last glance over. The man in front of him smiled.

"I can see how you might feel that way, Sir," He said smoothly, adjusting his already perfectly adjusted waistcoat, "But i can assure you, i am quite certified and ready to uphold this household and serve this family."

Mr. Carson raised one bushy eyebrow. He was in no way fooled. This boy could say some pretty things, but the fact remained that this would be his first employment as a footman.

He sighed dropping the resume on his desk. What else was he to do? It had been three weeks only three men had applied. He sighed again. And this was the best he got? For three weeks of newspaper space?! He shook his head.

"Well, I suppose we could try you out, see how you fit in..." He resigned, glancing one last time at the pieces of resume and paper scattered about his wide wooden desk.

"Mr. Carson, i truly appreciate it." He combed a wiley hand through his neatly pomaded hair, then jauntily swaggered out of the office. Mr. Carson frowned and filed away the papers quickly, as if to wash his large hands of the off kilter ordeal. He was suppose to be intimidating the footman! Not the other way around! What was this? What had the younger generation come to?! He poured himself a cup of warm tea to calm his nerves. What was it that infuriated him so about the boy? He sipped grimly. I guess i'll just have to wait and find out.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hi everyone! This is the next chapter. I know the last few have been a lot of set up, but were finally getting to the good stuff. Thanks for bearing with me! And on yeah, I'm sorry if you find some "Ana" insted of "Anna". That is totally my fault, and i tried my best to correct it. Please enjoy!

AnNa walked smartly down the grey, cool cobblestone streets. She hummed as she walked because it was her day off and she didn't have to answer to anybody. She had run directly to the big red town trolley and ride it all the way to RIpon.

She liked the sound that her little heels made on the cobbles. It made a sort of rhythm, along with everyones feet tapping the ground. Piff, smack, klonk, piff, smack, klonk. She took a deep breath of the city air, not really caring how feted it was and gasoline-y. The cool fall day whipped its was about her legs and through her coat. She let her fashionably gloved hands rest on her bulging stomach, feeling the life inside. I do think it will be a boy. She decided, caressing the area. She took another deep breath of the hearty, bracing air and then ducked into a little boutique, a display of frilly woolen hats proudly displayed in its spotless windows.

The door jingled as she pushed it open, a string of little brass bells attached to the handle on the other side. A store employee came over in a starched apron and little lacy hat: "May i help you, ma'am?"

"Oh thank you. I was just looking for a hat."

Soon a hat to Anna's liking was uncovered. the store employee wrapped it up for her in blue effervescent crinkly paper and put it in a large, pink and purple hat box with the stores emblem marching across the rounded top. She was just about to leave the store, hat box carefully tucked away under her arm, when on the spur of the moment she turned around and asked the employee where she could find some tasty wine.

"Just across the street. Its called, "Bruno's Brewery"." Was the reply. Anna nodded. She would bring home a fine bottle for her and John to share. Feeling very wealthy with her brand new hat and the promise of some rich, good wine, she scampered out of the store in a glow.

She started out onto the road, past the parked shabby carriages and shiney metal motors and past the hapless grungy kids loitering against them. She stepped into the middle of the street. Wondering whether she should get one bottle or t...

Then it all happened so fast. She was treading out into the middle of the wide lane. There was something a few yards away, speeding toward her. She stopped, meaning to go back, a little annoyed at the recklessness of the driver. Her spindly high heel caught in the gap between the flat stones and she stumbled back. Someone screamed. There was the squeal of brakes. The smell of diesel and gasoline and horse waste. Steaming metal against hot flesh and the feeling of flying through space. I hope nothing happened to my hat...was the last thing Ana remembered thinking before a storm of darkness clouded her vision.

"Shall we take a walk, George?" Edith poked her head into the lavish lounge where George reclined in a pink and yellow chair with a cigarette and the morning news opened to the funnies. He had been at Downton quite a lot lately, ever since she had introduced him to the family. Mary had taken to snarkily calling him, "The light fixture".

"I don't see why not." He folded the news once lengthwise and twice width wise and straightened up, gallantly offering her his arm. They strolled down the ornate hallways and past the creamy carved marble and richly hued paintings.

"Do you want to tour the garden or th-" Edith broke off as felt a tug at her arm. George had stopped in the middle of the hallway. She gave a gentle pull. "What's wrong?" She demanded, then followed his vision down the way.

Rose was seated on an overstuffed chair, her body draped about it so her long legs slid off one arm and her back rested loungingly against the other. She had on a spellbinding dress of gold and green, which accentuated her bust to a great extent. The was gently bouncing one jeweled shoe on her finely formed foot, chewing pink bubble gum, and twirling one of her honey coloured curls around her slender finger. She had a shiny fashion magazine opened across her lap and was flipping absently through it. Seemingly more interested in examining her freshly light pink painted nails then absorbing text.

"Oh I'm sorry dear." George murmured, starting to move forward again. Edith felt like a rock had been lodged in her chest. But what could she do but keep walking? As they passed Rose flashed her pearly teeth knowingly at George, who concentrated on looking like he hadn't seen.

Anna opened her eyes slowly. There was a light fixture by the side of the bed, and its beam of light seemed to be honed right at her eyes. Everything was altogether too bright and too loud. She turned slightly, trying to take in more of her surroundings, and was suddenly overcome with nausea.

"Ah!" A masculine voice sounded to her left, but she was afraid to move her head and look lest the awful feeling wash over her again. "You've woken up! Would you like some water?"

"Yes." She croaked, slowly beginning to become aware of a sharp pain in her side. She drank thirstily the cup he handed her, and then three more.

"I don't feel well." She stated dully after the last drop had been guzzled.

"Yes, well, you took quite a tumble." The doctor slid into the chair next to the white sheeted bed.

"What?" Ana asked, rubbing her gritty eyes.

"A tumble." The doctor told her again. Looking mildly concerned.

"What tumble? Where am i?" The words had just registered in her mind. Tumble?

"You're at St. Anthonys hospital. Ripon." He told her gravley.

"The hospital? Why?" She frowned, slowly becoming aware of the sharp pain in her lower thigh and upper left side.

The doctor moved closer, "You were hit by a car, Mrs. Bates."

She gasped, blinking, trying helplessly to remember. "When?"

"This afternoon."

"What time is it now?" She started sliding out of the crisp white bed. The doctor quickly pushed her back down. "Its just after nine in the evening, Mrs. Bates."

"Good my god! And i don't remember anything! What of my husband?" She cried, settling back among the pillows and rubbing her forehead, quite overwhelmed.

"He has been contacted." Then a sickening thought came to Anna. SHe was almost too afraid to speak it. Tears came into the corners of her eyes.

"And my baby?..." The doctor looked away.

"I'm afraid there wasn't much we could do." He said sorrowfully.

She felt numb, her hands feeling her stomach. It was horribly, sickeningly, all too conformingly flat.

"We had to do some stitching on your leg. You broke five ribs, and we think part of your hip, but thats all. Your a lucky one, Mrs. Bates."

"I don't feel lucky." She said mournfully, then crashed back against the pillows and wept until that doctor went away.


End file.
